


Had Enough

by Hatterized



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Divergence, Captive Rick, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humiliation, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Touching, Nudity, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatterized/pseuds/Hatterized
Summary: Rick takes the fall for Daryl's punch and ends up being taken captive by Negan.





	1. Descent

**Author's Note:**

> Boy the tags on this make this fic sound awful lmao sorry guys. The noncon stuff isn't between Rick and Negan, which you may have already guessed from me tagging David in this fic but I figured I'd let you know in advance.

That hillbilly had one hell of a right hook.

He didn’t look like much now, though, snarling and snapping on the ground like an animal. Feral, thinking only of the moment. No consequences for his actions- despite the fact that Negan had just demonstrated in an up-close-and-personal way just how much a man of action he was. _Actions have consequences, asshole_ , he mused to himself as he rubbed over his stubbly jaw and wondered if it would bruise.

Simon said the man’s name was Daryl- that actually sounded right. He kept one eye on Daryl through the rest of the night as he delivered the consequences of Daryl’s thoughtless blow.

He felt the barest twinge of guilt when he saw how the sickly woman cried, but he kept going. Daryl kept quiet then, cowed into place. “You see that shit?” Negan crowed loud and proud to the people shaking and sweating on their knees. “ _Consequences_.”

One eye on Daryl, to make sure he stayed in line.

And one eye on the leader, who had quietly demanded Negan’s attention from the start.

_Rick._

Negan had wrongly assumed Big Red to be the leader when he’d first swept out of the RV and looked over the motley group, but then Simon had pointed to the man in the middle, sweat-soaked from both terror and the effort helping to carry the sickly woman through the woods, hair curling sweetly over his forehead and into his icy blue eyes. Soft, full lips, and damn, if he didn’t look like a mouth ready to fuck down there on his knees. There was something about the way he carried himself- with both pride and humility, the fear in his posture mixing with a self-assured righteousness that screamed _I am in the right_.

Rick had offered himself up when Negan had told him to cut his son’s arm off, begging that _it can be me, please, please don’t_. He would have died right there if Negan had let him, bled himself dry on his own hatchet if it meant sparing his boy. Negan had believed him utterly- the man was broken after losing two of his own, at the very notion of hurting his own flesh and blood. He wouldn’t have been capable of a lie. He crouched next to Rick Grimes, the man’s jaw cupped between his leather-clad fingers, and saw a desperation there. _I will bleed myself dry for these people_ , it said, _I will be their martyr, their Christ on the Cross, and I will cover them with my blood until you’ve drained me of all I’ve got._

And that was what drew him in.

He’d seen many kinds of people before, many kinds of women and men and leaders and followers and everything in between. The brave, the prideful, the cowardly, the fearful, the angry.

The kind ones died off quickly, and with that, compassion often followed. _If the kind can’t survive, then we can’t be kind_. That was the unspoken mantra of the new world, and Negan had taken to it early on.

It wasn’t that Rick was _kind_ , exactly. No, that man was blood and bone and teeth, was steel tempered with fire, claws sinking into the flesh of those who challenged his group’s safety. But still- that he _cared_ , that he’d made it this far as someone who cared, who had kept people alive while still daring to love them…that was _something_.

* * *

Rick’s vision tunneled down to one spot while Negan was speaking, and that spot was Carl, who was still lying on the ground beside him with the tourniquet belted just below his elbow.

 _Carl_ , who had whispered to him in the thick of the moment, “Dad, just do it.”

 _Carl_ , who was fourteen years old and already so broken. Rick felt his fatherly failure as a ragged wound somewhere so deep inside himself he doubted it could ever be tended to, guilt ebbing from him like lifeblood.

Rick’s tears dripped to the ground, muddying the knees of his jeans even further. _I can breathe,_ he kept repeating over and over again in his head- or perhaps aloud, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to tell anymore over the rush of blood in his ears and the boom of Negan’s voice. _Carl’s okay, Carl’s okay, Carl’s okay, I can breathe._

“Rick,” Negan said, and his voice now calm, like he was trying to _soothe_ him. It was laughable, the gentle hand right between his shoulderblades and the tender tone, like he hadn’t just ground Rick thoroughly into the dirt with a foot on his back, hadn’t killed two of his best friends and threatened his son and made him cry and beg on his knees. “Rick, you know what? I don’t think the rest of your group quite understands how this works.”

He was looking at Daryl, Lucille in his hands, and Rick’s stomach flipped over. _No. No, no no-_

“Pl-please-” the words came out pained and thick, and Negan’s face was unforgiving despite his tone. “Please, he…I-”

“You what? He what, _Rick?_ ”

“He’ll- we understand. We understand. All of us, we-” he was hyperventilating again, tears blurring his vision. _Please don’t hurt any more of us_ , he wanted to beg, _please don’t hurt him because I got us into this mess._ His pride and dignity lay spattered across the muddied ground alongside his friend’s bodies.

“Do you?” Negan asked disbelievingly, frowning down at him. Even in the light of day, he looked like a hellbound angel of death, all red and black and too-white teeth in the dawning light. “Do you _really_? Does he? Because he’s still wearin’ that same pissy-ass look that makes me think he’s not getting the goddamned memo.” Negan was on his feet in an instant, rounding on Daryl. “You think you can fall in line, soldier?”

Daryl’s jaw visibly clenched, and if Rick’s stomach hadn’t been empty, he’d have tasted bile. Glenn was dead, Maggie looked halfway there. Rick had shed every bit of ego to try to buy them some mercy- surely Daryl wouldn’t push back again out of some kind of misguided machismo.

“Or do I need to show you that your actions have consequences? _Again_?” Negan swung Lucille in Rosita’s direction, the wood whistling by her close enough to make her dark hair flutter, but she herself didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash. Rick wanted to crawl to her on his knees, beg her forgiveness for Abraham, hold her close and let her cry and cream her fill, lay into him with her fists and words if she needed to.

The bat came to a halt, arrested in midair mere inches from her skull, and at that, Daryl paled.

“No,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Negan grinned, cupping his hand to his ear. “What was that? You sorry fucks are all so goddamned soft-spoken.”

Daryl glared up at him. “No,” he repeated. “I get it.”

“That right?” Negan asked.

“Yeah.”

Negan nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. Now-” he turned back to the group. “I’m gonna need to pick you guys out a new leader. Now, I know what you’re thinkin’- _why_? We’ve got a perfectly fine one right here. And you would be right- he’s perfectly fine. But he’s not your leader anymore. No, I think I’m gonna need to _work_ on him a little more.”

Rick blinked. Was Negan talking about _him_?

“You. Samurai.”

Rick’s stomach dropped. _No._

“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. _Reasonable_.”

Michonne, blessedly, was level headed, her voice clipped and even. “Rick is capable-”

“ _Rick_ is coming with me.”

A hush settled over the group, and for a brief moment Michonne was stunned into horrified silence. “He- you don’t need to- he understands-”

Negan chuckled, the sound of it all menace and no mirth, and Rick shivered. “Oh, I know he does. _For now_. But did you all really fucking think I was going to let the guy that led an attack on one of my outposts just walk around all footloose and fancy-free? That man you’ve got callin’ the shots? He’s a fucking crazy person. Forgive me for not trusting him to go back and not rally up you sorry shits all over again. Fool me once. No, Rick’s coming back with me.”

Rick’s head jerked up then, the weight of it all settling in. “Wait-”

“Put him in the truck, boys.”

Two of Negan’s men were on him before he could get a word out, fingers digging into his arms as he was dragged and hen thrown bodily into the back of the truck that Michonne and the others had been unloaded from.

“Wait!” He yelped, panic gripping him as the men wrestled him back. “ _C-Carl!_ ” He could see his son struggling in Michonne’s arms, trying to fight his way toward him. “Carl, Carl, _don’t_ , I’ll be okay, _please_ -!” The thought of something happening to him while he wasn’t there made him want to be sick, tears spilling anew. _I just need you to be okay, I need you to take care of Judith and yourself, I’m so sorry, Carl-_

“Rick!” Negan was in front of him then, grabbing his face again, and immediately he went slack under the touch, the memory of the man’s fingers digging cruelly into his cheeks while he shouted at him like he was a scolded dog making him lapse into cold fear. The man’s eyes were black and dangerous, the humor in his voice gone. “You’ll go quietly, or you’ll regret it. You see your kid right now? How he’s in one fucking piece, how he’s about to go back home safe and sound and get tucked into bed by his momma?” Pain flashed across Rick’s face before he could stop it, still to raw to fight it. “One more word, and that all changes. You hearin’ me, prick?”

Rick heard the warning loud and clear: _I will use your son to keep you in line. I will use all of them to keep you in line._

Rick nodded, eyes never leaving Carl’s pained face. Negan broke into a wide grin that didn’t match his cold eyes. “Good!”

 _I belong to you_ , he’d told Negan. Those words rang in his ears as he was shoved further into the van and the doors were closed firmly behind him. He didn’t hear Carl’s voice again- didn’t hear anything but Negan until van’s engine roared to life and they began to bump along the gravel road. He ached knowing that every second that past he was further and further away from his children, his family, his friends.

 _At least it was me,_ he thought _. I may belong to you, but my son, my people? They do not._

* * *

Rick was blindfolded by one of Negan’s soldiers before they got too close to where they were going, his vision now swathed in the deep crimson of Negan’s scarf. The man’s deep, rumbling voice was all that grounded him- no one else spoke but to say _yes sir, no sir, of course, sir_.

In a moment of levity that Rick didn’t know he was capable of, he mused to himself, _I’m glad my people don’t talk to me like that. It’d make me feel old as I am._ Once, Tara had called him ‘sir’ while they were out on the road, before she’d gotten to know him, and it had made him cringe so hard that she’d laughed. After that, every so often she’d respond do him with a soldier’s ‘yes, sir!’ and a teasing salute, a glimmer of mirth in her eyes.

His smile only lasted a moment before he felt the van come to a stop on what sounded to be gravel, the engine shuddering and dying.

He was pulled from the back by unkind hands digging into his upper arms like they were trying to get to the bone beneath, two people shoving him forward so that he nearly fell to his knees. He would have been on the ground if a familiar leather-gloved hand hadn’t reach out and caught him by the back of the neck, squeezing a tight warning that Rick wasn’t apt to fight while bound and lost: _don’t try to get away, because we will not let you go quietly._

There was warm breath at Rick’s ear suddenly, making him shiver. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Rick the Prick. Now fucking _walk_ unless you want me to carry you over the goddamned threshold like you’re my blushing bride-to-be.”

Rick walked clumsy-footed and forced to trust in Negan’s guiding hand to not lead him into a wall or a walker. He was led up flights of metal stairs that clanged beneath booted feet, down long halls that Rick could only hear faint, indistinct murmurs in, until they stopped and he heard the scrape of a heavy door opening in front of him. Negan released his hold and wrenched the makeshift blindfold away from Rick’s eyes, and he didn’t even need to blink to adjust. It was dark wherever they were, and though there were high windows throwing down light every foot or so, it wasn’t nearly enough to lift the suffocating feeling of narrow, dank concrete walls.

The room that stood open before Rick was small and even darker, reminiscent of a storage closet.

“Rick,” Negan drawled, sounding bored. “Look at me.”

Rick turned and met Negan’s eyes with what he hoped was an even look. He had his doubts, though- he felt unsteady and shaken, as far from calm as he had been in a long time. The man smirked and looked Rick up and down with a strange expression that Rick’s sluggish couldn’t begin to fathom. “Strip.”

Rick blinked, the command echoing in the barren hallway that was empty but for the two of them and a couple of Negan’s soldiers. He couldn’t quite put an action to the word. _Strip?_ _Why would he want…?_

Negan’s face went hard in that way it had when Rick had simply nodded at his commands before, his façade of calm slipping away into something cruel and harsh, a serpent beneath the surface of a placid lake. “That was not a fucking request, prick. Give me your fucking clothes. Or do you want my men to come over here and take them off for you?” He smiled cruelly as the way Rick’s face paled. “I didn’t think you’d want that- some of ‘em have been known to get a bit handsy, but hell, if that’s how it’s gotta be…” He trailed off, letting the threat linger.

Rick couldn’t hold the man’s gaze as he did it, eyes falling shamefully to his own hands as he clumsily unzipped his jacket and let it slip to the floor. He tossed his shirt atop it, kicked off his boots and socks, undid his belt, all while trying to ignore the eyes on him. He could feel a flush coloring his cheeks as he unzipped his jeans and let them fall, hesitating only a moment on the elastic of his boxers before Negan commanded, “All of it,” and he shed those, too. Dignity in tatters, he forced himself to meet Negan’s eyes again once he was bare.

The man was smirking again, gaze unabashedly raking across Rick’s body in a made him want to squirm and cover himself. Embarrassed and cornered, Rick felt bile rise in his throat in the form of biting words, despite his better judgment.

“You done?”

Negan’s dimples deepened beneath the silver of his beard, tongue sliding between his teeth. “Not yet, actually. Give me a spin, Rick. Let’s see what you’ve got. Turn around for me.”

Rick gritted his teeth, silently seething as he turned slowly, staring into the dark cavern of the empty room in front of him while Negan and his men looked their fill. Negan let out a long, low whistle that made Rick’s face and chest burn.

A moment later, before he could think, there were large hands covering his bare hips. Rick jolted hard, immediately trying to struggle out of Negan’s tight hold. “What- what the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” Negan’s fingers dug into the soft flesh he gripped, hard enough to leave bruises on the pale skin.

“You need to simmer the fuck down, Rick. You just got here. We barely even scratched the surface, and you’re already squirming? _Damn_ , I thought it’d take more than that.” Rick wrenched out of his grip, glowering up at the man. The soldiers immediately raised their guns, but Negan waved them off lazily, unbothered by Rick’s outburst. “Guess you’re still a little shaken up, huh?” Negan mused. “Or are you really this fucking shy? You don’t need to be shy with me, Rick. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Nothin’ at all.”  He tipped his head back, glancing down at Rick’s crotch. “Backside’s nicer than the front, but that’s alright. Not everybody’s fucking blessed with a big swinging dick like my own.” He grabbed his own crotch lecherously, mouth curved into a Cheshire smile. Rick grimaced, his disgust plain on his face. Negan’s smile slipped. “What’s that fucking look for, Rick? I thought we were square here- I told you I don’t like that fucking look you give me, and yet here it is again. You got a problem with all this? You sound like a nice little Southern boy- you got that not-so-nice Southern hate in your blood, too? Don’t like a _man_ eyein’ you up?”

Rick barely repressed the snarl building in his chest. “I don’t have a problem with _that_.”

Negan cocked his head like a curious dog. “That right? You swing that way, Rick? Huh? I know you’ve got a kid, but that don’t mean nothin’. Tell you what, honey- if you’re into it, I can strike up a little deal with you. I’ve got a handful of wives here, but no husband yet. If you wanna get yourself out of the nice fucking hole you’ve dug yourself, we could-”

Rick gaped at him in horror, his stomach clenching. He couldn’t possibly mean- he couldn’t really think that Rick would want to-

Negan’s laugh rang through the empty halls like the peal of a bell. “I’m just fucking with you, Rick. I just figured I’d try. No harm in that, right?”

Rick briefly wondered if Negan was mentally sound- the man turned on a dime, and Rick couldn’t get a good feel for what he meant and what he didn’t. One moment he seemed light, borderline flirtatious in a way that had Rick wrong-footed and confused, and the next he was baring sharp teeth and looking ready to sink his claws into anything soft he could find. It was unnerving.

Negan reached out, hand coming to rest in the center of Rick’s chest. Rick felt his heart speed up, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, but it wasn’t necessary. Negan simply shoved him backward into the small room, swinging the door shut and locking it tight as soon as Rick was inside. “I think you need to learn some fucking manners, Rick. Maybe think about how you’ve been talking to me today while you’re in there. Really fucking mull that over so that the next time I come to visit, you’ll be a little more gracious.”

Rick blinked rapidly in the dark room, the only light coming from the crack beneath the door. He could see the shadow of Negan’s boots, watched as they walked away, listened to the echo of footsteps fading into nothing.

And then it was quiet.

Rick breathed slow and deep, in and out, trying to calm his racing pulse. He felt wildly around the room, searching for anything inside- a loose brick, a piece of glass, _anything_ \- and came up short. There was a small metal bucket and a roll of toilet paper in one corner and nothing else. He slumped to the cold stone floor then, his weary body finally collapsing in on itself with the day’s exhaustion and trauma and humiliation. He was cold and alone and unable to shake the images of Glenn and Abraham’s bodies lying cold and lifeless and bloodied on the ground, of Maggie and Sasha’s tears, of Carl’s frightened panic when he’d been dragged away. He drew his knees up into his chest as if physically holding himself together would help mend the jagged wound that had opened up there in the wake of the day’s destruction.

He didn’t remember beginning to cry, only noticing it when the wetness began to pool beneath his cheek where it was pressed to the hard ground.

He could see them now- Glenn, in his baseball cap, calling him a dumbass and saving his life when he didn’t know how to handle himself. Glenn and Maggie getting married in the prison yard on a warm spring afternoon, their faces young and full of impossible hope for the future. Abraham ready to fight him when he wouldn’t leave to go to D.C., and then Abraham leaving him the map with his note, an apology. _The new world’s gonna need Rick Grimes._

Rick choked around a sob. _Maybe the new world didn’t need me after all._

* * *

Rick didn’t remember falling asleep. It felt like the blink of an eye between the time he was sobbing on the floor and Negan’s voice flooding all around him while light flooded through the open doorway.

“Rise and shine, Rick!”

He met the man’s eyes wearily, his own feeling bloodshot and swollen. He had no way of knowing how long it had been, but it seemed both like days and minutes all at once. Negan crouched down beside him, a domed silver platter in hand. He reached out, pushing Rick’s hair out of his face in what Rick supposed was meant to be a tender gesture, but it only served to make him tense and flinch back further against the brick already biting into his bare back. Negan scowled, his façade of cheeriness dropping away, and let the platter clang obnoxiously when he set it on the floor, the sound deafening. “Fine, prick. You wanna be like that, fucking be like that. I’m just the guy bringing you a nice fucking breakfast. You have no _idea_ what that shit would cost you if you were living here like everyone else. Most people won’t ever get the luxury.” Negan shoved to his feet, turning on his heel and striding out. “Keep workin’ on that pissy attitude, honey. It ain’t doin’ you any fucking favors.”

Rick winced at the slam of the door. A headache was gathering at his temples, the pressure building.

The platter caught the dim light beneath the door, and Rick barely had to weight the pros and cons before the warm, hearty smell coming from it enticed him. If Negan wanted him dead, he’d be dead. There were worse ways to go than poisoned pancakes.

He couldn’t see his food, but he could smell it- sausage, and something sweet that indeed turned out to be pancakes. He nearly moaned at the first taste of food in his mouth. It was delicious, as much as he was loath to admit it, and now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure when the last time he’d eaten was.

* * *

There wasn’t much to do in his cell. Rick spent much of his time with his cheek pressed to the floor, facing the gap beneath the door and trying to see anything and everything he could- which wasn’t much, just the shadows of shoes whenever someone passed by.

It was hard to keep track of time- the light beneath the door didn’t change much. He started trying to track the movements of the people outside. Were those the same boot soles that had passed five hundred finger taps ago?

 _God_ , he wished he could sleep. He could feel the need for it weighing down his heavy eyelids, making his eyes burn and body weary. He laid on the floor in every position, arms tucked beneath his head as a pillow, quietly begging for sleep to overtake him even for a couple hours just to get some relief from the constant noise in his head, but it continued to evade him.

He kept seeing Glenn. The blood, the brain matter, the grotesque eyeball popped from the socket. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see him like that, his voice broken and garbled to his last breath…only it was worse, his traumatized brain splicing his friend’s last moments together with Rick’s own memories of him. Now Glenn’s wedding vows sounded pained and broken when he tried to recall them, the memory of him driving that sportscar through Atlanta was stained with crimson, and he was swerving off the road, and…

Rick made a pathetic, mewling sound of pain, curling in on himself with his knees drawn up tight to his chest. _No. No, no, that’s not how it happened. He was happy. Remember? He wanted to keep that car. Was so disappointed when we had to strip it for parts._ Rick tugged at his hair, trying to ground himself with the pinpricks of pain. _And remember when he pulled out that guitar? He could play pretty good, and Beth and Maggie sang, and Hershel…Hershel looked so happy._

Rick breathed in and out, forced but steady. _Remember when we caught him and Maggie in the guard tower? Maggie…Maggie’ll never see him again…_

Tears began prickling again, breaths turning to hitching sobs. “No, no…” he whispered, trying desperately to calm himself again. He yanked at his hair, raked his nails down his thighs over and over and over until he felt the slippery wetness of blood beneath his fingertips. “Never gonna…their baby’s never gonna…meet him…”

He barely registered the sound of someone banging on the door, shouting at him for being too loud.

“What was the song, what was the song…?” He racked his brain, trying to remember the melody that Beth had crooned that night out in the prison yard. He had been…well, he’d been an ass that night, but he could still hear the girl’s singing as he’d walked the length of the gates to avoid the group.

“Shut the fuck up in there!” the guard shouted, but Rick was finally recalling the words.

“ _Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had…are sorry for my going away…_ ” Rick sang out, trying to will away the pounding in his head with the memory of sweeter times. “ _And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had…would wish me one more day to stay…_ ”

The door swung open, light streaming into the room. Negan’s lanky form stood silhouetted with Lucille perched on his shoulder, and Rick felt a surge of hatred and strange relief all at once.

Negan squatted down beside him, placing Lucille far outside of Rick’s reach. The man looked…odd. Rick couldn’t place the curious expression on his face. It was too soft a look for such a hard man.

“What’s goin’ on in here, Rick? You losin’ your marbles already? Shit, it’s only been three days.”

Rick blinked. He’d been in here for three days?

Negan reached out and took one of Rick’s hands between his own, frowning. “You been hurtin’ yourself?” He ran a palm down Rick’s bare thigh, over the shallow scratches that Rick had put there, and Rick shuttered at the intimacy of the touch. “You’re a fucking mess. I oughta let you sit here in it. Oughta keep you hungry another couple days and see if that quiets you down. My men are getting’ real sick of listenin’ to your singing. You ain’t exactly Frank Sinatra.”

How long had he been singing? He hadn’t realized anyone could hear him.

“You been sleeping, Rick?”

Rick shook his head _no_ , because he knew that much, at least.

Negan’s eyes were wide. “At all?”

“Can’t- can’t sleep…” Rick rasped, and all at once he heard how raw his throat felt. _Overused_. “Keep tryin’, but I…” he trailed off. Why the hell was he telling Negan? The man was looking down at him expectantly, and Rick recalled his words shouted right into his face: _speak when you’re spoken to!_ “Can’t sleep.”

Negan shook his head, clucking his tongue as he did. “No wonder you’re fuckin’ losing it. You’re gonna kill yourself goin’ on like that, you know. That what you want?”

“I’m not tryin’ to stay awake!” Rick snapped, anger ripping right through him so suddenly he felt like he was being torn in half. “I wish I could sleep! Every time I do, I see- I- I can’t fucking sleep!”

Negan shoved to his feet and recollected Lucille. “I’ll be back in a little while, Rick. You need to eat. I’ll be back.”

* * *

Rick was a damn mess. Negan should have checked on the man sooner, he knew that now. Rick was soft, _too_ soft, so easily affected. He’d been broken and begging back at the clearing, been blank-faced and distant, those blue eyes trained on something so far away that Negan couldn’t see it.

Rick had been _good_ for him- he’d submitted, ducked that pretty head, nodded and repeated his words, given himself over. He shouldn’t have punished him so harshly for it. He knew as soon as he looked at Rick that the man was telling the absolute truth- he hadn’t slept a wink since he’d been put in the cell. He was utterly disoriented, twitchy, and there were dark bruise-like crescents beneath both of his bloodshot, watery eyes.

There was so much red on him- under his fingernails and up his thighs and across his stomach where he’d clawed at himself. He hadn’t even seemed to realize he’d been doing it. There was still that stripe of scarlet across his nose and cheekbone from where Negan had splattered him with that redhead’s blood, dried and flaky now, and it made Negan want to get a wet cloth and wipe the stain away.

Instead, he went to get Rick some food. Starvation wasn’t part of the plan, but after Rick’s fight had resurfaced when Negan had made him strip, he’d thought it necessary. Weaken him, just enough so that he wouldn’t be a problem if he tried to fight. The moment he’d shed his clothes, Negan had been entranced with the smooth, rolling muscle he’d been hiding. Hard chest and stomach, strong arms, thick thighs. Rick Grimes was a dangerous man, hardly the kicked puppy he looked like when he was on his knees in his fluffy-collared jacket.

He had enjoyed watching Rick strip, liked the soft, embarrassed blush on the man’s cheeks and his discomfort when Negan had eyed him up. _I don’t have a problem with that_ , he’d said when Negan had let slip a little flirtation. He didn’t mind that Negan was a _man_ , just that he was the man that had killed his friends.

Foolishly, Negan had let himself entertain that idea later that night, alone in his bed. He’d had plenty to work with- Rick on his knees, plush pink lips and tearful eyes. Rick’s lovely backside bared to him, twin dimples right above it. Rick’s cock hanging limp between his thighs, and _how would it look if Negan took him in his mouth and worked him slow and steady to hardness?_

He pushed the thoughts away now, focused on the task at hand. Food, and a little something extra.

He wondered if it meant something that he was using precious things like sleeping pills to ease the suffering of a prisoner.

He decided it didn’t have to. He just wanted to stop hearing Rick singing that damn song every time he walked by his cell.

Rick, to his credit, was quiet when Negan returned. He looked to be lost in thought, and Negan had to nudge him to get him to eat.

“C’mon. This is good shit, Ricky-boy. A BLT. Those there are fresh tomatoes, right off the vine. And you need to drink this.” He pressed the cup to Rick’s lips, hoping the man was too sleep-deprived to notice that his water didn’t look quite right. “It’ll help.”

Rick didn’t question him, downing everything in less than five minutes. Negan wondered if that was trust, of just disregard for his own life. Hell, maybe Rick didn’t even realize that it was the enemy tipping food into his mouth right now.

Negan stood, and Rick was still crouched at his feet. Wide, tired blue eyes blinked wearily up at him, lips too pink to be real, but there they were.

“Thank you,” Rick whispered.

Negan startled, breath caught in his throat. _This fucking guy_.

He let the door slam shut behind him.

* * *

When Rick woke up, his first thought was of how good it felt to _sleep_. He wasn’t sure what finally did it, if it was the food in his stomach or if his brain had just decided to shut down to spare him further mind-numbing exhaustion, but he wasn’t about to complain. He had food in his belly and he felt well-rested for the first time in…days, apparently. And he felt clean, he realized- his thighs were still pink and raw from scratching at them, but the blood had been cleaned away from the scrapes and under his nails, and when he touched his face, the blood that he’d remembered Negan slinging there was gone. Someone had cleaned him up while he’d slept.

He’d been in here for three days- probably longer now that he’d been out. It unnerved him that he had no way of knowing. Had it just been a couple hours, or had he slept right through a full day?

Then he remembered Negan’s promise of weekly visits to Alexandria. But- no, he couldn’t have slept that long. That would be far too long, surely Negan would have woken him up to rub it in his face.

He wondered how Carl would behave. Surely he’d stay out of the way? After seeing what happened with Daryl and Glenn, surely…

Panicked, he crawled toward the metal door and started hammering at it with his fists. “Hey! Negan- _Negan!_ ” His breaths were coming quicker, in short bursts like they had before, when he’d been trying not to think of Glenn and then he’d started singing and then…and then he hadn’t stopped and Negan had told him it had been three days.

He was losing his mind. He was losing time in here.

“Negan! _Negan, Negan, Negan-!_ ”

His shouts were answered with a loud bang on the outside of the door and an annoyed voice that was definitely not Negan’s.

“Shut the fuck up in there! Jesus, just go back to fucking sleep, I liked you better when you were drugged.”

Rick’s hands faltered. _Drugged?_

“How long have I been in here?” Rick called to the man outside. He was answered by silence, but he wasn’t above pestering his way into getting answers.

“Hey! _Hey!_ Answer me, fucking answer me, how long have I been in here? Tell me! Tell me _tell me tell me_ -”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“ _How long?_ ”

It sounded like the man kicked the door.

“ _How long have I been in here?_ ” Rick shouted, his voice growing hoarse. “How-”

The door swung open suddenly, and Rick dropped his hands into his lap but didn’t move away. The man glared down at him, lip curled. “Back the fuck away from the door, little bitch.”

“How long?” Rick rasped.

“I _said_ -” The man kicked out at Rick, his booted foot colliding with his ribs, and Rick crumpled in on himself, seething through clenched teeth. “Back-” another kick, “-the fuck-” another, this time Rick couldn’t stop the grunt of pain when the bone cracked and gave way, “-up!” Rick curled onto his side, one arm in front of his injured ribs and one in front of his face. The man knelt beside him, mouth smirking and eyes roaming. “Been waitin’ on you to give me a good reason to do that. See, I don’t wanna be fucking unreasonable, right? Negan’s not an unreasonable guy. But you’re causin’ a real fuss right now, and I can’t have that. He wouldn’t like that. He likes you nice and quiet, don’t he?” When Rick simply glared in reply, the man reached out and shoved his fingers hard into Rick’s injured side, making him gasp in pain. “ _Don’t he?_ ”

“Ye-yes,” Rick gritted out.

The man smirked again, triumphant. His hand lingered a little too long on Rick’s hip. “That’s right. So you’re gonna be nice and quiet now, aren’t you?” His hand slid down Rick’s thigh with a stinging touch, then between, rough fingers cupping his most sensitive parts, and Rick startled and jerked away.

“What the hell are you-”

“Shh, now. Don’t want to make a racket, do you, little bitch? I need to put a muzzle on you?” He gave Rick’s balls a squeeze, just tight enough to dissuade him from objecting. “Answer me. Do. You need. A muzzle?”

Rick winced as his balls were tugged at roughly, teeth biting into his lip. “No.”

The man smirked again. “Good. Now, I know you’re not gonna be bangin’ on the door anymore, are you? Because it’d be a damn shame to have to tie you up, but I sure as shit will.” He squeezed Rick one last time, a single finger dipping down to stroke the sensitive skin just below, and Rick’s whole body seized up.

When the man left, Rick cupped a hand around himself, trying to ward off the invasive touch. He prodded gently at his ribs, trying to assess the damage.

He could still feel the man’s hand between his thighs, could still feel the violation of it. He’d never been touched like that by someone before- unwelcome and forceful and _wrong_. It made his stomach churn and flip over on itself.

Drugged. The man had said he was drugged…was that how Negan had gotten him to sleep…?

He swallowed and swallowed, trying to calm himself down. _It’s fine. It’s okay._

_You were drugged. They can do anything to you while you’re here. They can touch you however they want, wherever they want. They can knock you out and make you miss days, never tell you how long it’s been, lie and tell you that your family is dead or alive when they’re not, they could all be dead, they could have taken everything from home and left them to starve-_

Rick dry heaved once before lurching toward the bucket in the corner, knees bruising on the concrete floor. The stench only made the nausea worse and his stomach emptied itself over and over again until there was nothing left in it and he was spitting and gagging around mouthfuls of saliva.


	2. Snapped

Negan was the only one that ever brought him food. Rick picked up on that pretty fast, was well aware that it was a strategic move on the other man's part, that he was being conditioned to feeling relief at the sight of his captor, but there was little he could do to stop it.

The door only ever opened for two reasons: one was Negan, who would bring him food, make sure he was resting, tend to his wounds if he had any. While Rick had been knocked out, Negan had come down with a doctor, who’d cleaned up Rick’s self-inflicted scrapes. When he woke, he was examined more thoroughly, checking for breaks in his bruised ribs. He’d called the man who’d attacked Rick into the cell, asked him _why the hell he’d been beating on his prisoner._

Negan had frowned when the man- _David_ , apparently- told him that Rick had been screaming at him and he’d needed to get violent. _Needed_ to.

Rick didn’t bother speaking up. It clearly didn’t bother Negan enough to tell the man to stop, because he didn't. He simply told David not to break anything next time. And the other thing…no, he wouldn’t bring it up. It was clearly how things worked here. Negan had made him strip in front of him that first day, had made sexual comments about his body. It was just further intimidation. He could take it. As long as it didn’t escalate, he could take it.

So Negan’s presence was a relief. He kept Rick well-fed, and when Rick dared to ask the question, he was generous enough to answer.

“How long…?”

“It’s been six days, Rick. I’m goin’ to visit your place tomorrow, bright and early.” His white teeth flashed in the dark. “You worried?”

Rick steeled himself and forced out a lie. It was easier than giving voice to a truth that he was too afraid to touch with his own mind. “No,” he said evenly, meeting shadowed hazel eyes. “They can handle themselves just fine.”

And they _could_. But the fact of it was that they’d been pressed for food since before the Saviors had come along. There was no way in hell Rick was going to let Negan see any more weakness in him or his people, though. Not if he could help it.

“Good,” Negan said. “Glad to fucking hear it.”

And those were the good times.

The bad ones were when David was on guard duty.

Rick couldn’t fathom what the man was getting out of shoving a hand between his thighs, or grabbing handfuls of his ass, or shoving two dirty fingers past his lips and down his throat until the spluttered and gagged around them. _You’d think he’d be more interested in someone that’s showered in the last week and doesn’t smell like sweat and sick and doesn’t piss in a fucking bucket._

Of course, Rick reasoned, David’s…tendencies were probably obvious to most of the other Saviors. Other people probably knew to steer clear, to say no. Other people were _allowed_ to say no.

Rick said it anyway, spat it in the man’s face when he grabbed at his cock and hissed it through clenched teeth when his ass was slapped so hard it stung. He wasn’t surprised that it didn’t make a difference, but it felt good to say it anyway. It wasn’t something he could say to Negan with impunity. With David, it didn’t matter, but he could spit out his litany of _no, no, stop, no,_ and it was the only time he could tell anyone exactly how he felt about being here.

* * *

The day that the Saviors visited Alexandria for the first time, Rick couldn’t sleep. He didn’t eat the meal that Negan dropped off first thing in the morning- waffles and sausage and fresh strawberries.

“Please,” he whispered as Negan turned to leave. “ _Please_ , can you…?”

“Can I what, _Rick_?” He was always saying his name like that, like it was something dirty shared between them.

Words stuck in Rick’s throat- what would be the point of begging Negan to play nice? Instead, he asked something else.

“Please, can you…can you take this to Carl?” He shoved his breakfast toward Negan’s boots, and the man scowled at the floor like Rick had spat there.

“No. You’ll fucking eat what you’re given and be grateful,” he snapped like Rick had offended him somehow, and slammed the door behind him, lock clicking heavily into place. His words reminded Rick of a fed-up parent trying to deal with a picky eater, and the comparison rankled him.

He’d known Carl wouldn’t eat it anyway. He was too proud for that. Maybe, _maybe_ , at the most he would have had a bite or two to make sure it wasn’t poisoned and then fed it to Judith. Rick didn’t like to think of Carl risking himself like that, even if Rick was sure his food wasn’t tainted with anything. It was the thought of Carl martyring himself that bothered him. Maybe it had been for the best.

Carl probably would have just tossed it anyway, but the thought of eating when he wasn’t sure if his children were going to be hungry didn’t sit well with Rick, so he shoved the platter to the furthest corner of the room and let it grow cold. Negan would be incensed by the perceived pettiness of the gesture when he returned to check on him later, but Rick couldn’t help it- his appetite was gone. It would be better to not eat at all than to eat and let the guilt of it make his stomach churn with nausea the rest of the day until the meal worked its way back up. Instead, he waited in the dark, naively hoping that Negan would come visit him after to tell him how things went.

It scared him that he had the audacity to hope that Negan would be kind enough to relieve him like that. He’d even take the man coming down just to rub in how much they’d taken and how broken Rick's people seemed. As long as he knew they were _alive_.

He waited for hours, so long that the light beneath the door faded and died with the nighttime, and eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Negan wasn’t going to come visit him today. It struck him as particularly cruel, but he supposed that was Negan.

But because Negan was Negan, and therefore perpetually wrongfooting Rick and keeping him guessing, the man himself showed up late that night with an offering of two hearty bowls of chowder that tasted better than it looked. He sat on the floor across from Rick- sat with him like he was playing at them being equals while they shared a meal, each man slurping soup and regarding each other carefully.

“Carl-” Rick began.

“Is fine and dandy,” Negan interrupted, nudging Rick’s bare foot with his own booted one. “Lighten up, deputy do-right. I’m not gonna start bashin’ in teenage skulls over nothin’. He’s fine, your people are fine, your hot-as-fuck girlfriend is fine.” Rick blinked hard, startled. How did Negan-?

“How’d I know you were shackin’ up with the samurai chick?” Negan chuckled, and Rick briefly, insanely, wondered if the man could read minds. The thought was ludicrous- maybe Rick was really and truly cracking in here. “Wasn’t hard to figure out. I’d guessed that was the case when I saw you all out there that first night. She looked about ready to kill when I got near you or the kid. Real mama bear type, that one. It was the same way today, she was keepin’ tabs on that kid like he was her own flesh and blood. Kept askin’ about you, too. _Is Rick okay, is he alive, are you feeding him_ \- all that shit.” Negan dropped a wink over his bowl. “Nice catch. You two make a damn good lookin’ pair. Wouldn’t mind bein’ in the middle of all that.”

A disgusted snarl ripped out of Rick’s throat before he could think better of it. “Fuck you.” The thought of Negan touching Michonne- it was unthinkable, revolting. Rick would die before he'd let it happen. 

Negan howled with spiteful laughter, slapping his thigh. “Nah, honey. I was thinkin’ more along the lines of fucking _you_.” Rick’s face twisted, bile rising and masking the taste of vegetables and broth. “I found a video camera while I was there. I had my fingers crossed for a little freaky-deaky on there, but no such luck. Just you lookin’ like a goddamned mountain man.”

The camera Deanna had recorded their interviews on all those months ago. Rick had forgotten it even existed.

“I could hardly believe it was you underneath all that man-bush.” Negan spared a pointed glance down at Rick’s lap, which was covered by the sheet Negan had allowed him after a few nights of shivering in the cold. “You’re bein’ shy right now, but I _know_ that the carpet matches the drapes.”

* * *

After the first week, Rick felt like he could breathe easier. His mantra on the days when he felt particularly frantic was _they’re okay, they’re fine, Carl’s okay, Judith’s okay…_

And it worked. He was managing- most days it felt like just barely scraping by, but he was alive, and his family was alive, and that was all that really mattered. Other days, it was bad- he didn’t sleep, and slipped back into the near-trancelike state of confusion and grief over the events that night in the clearing.

 _Not all of my family was alive_ , he reminded himself on those days. _Not all of them are alive, and their blood is on your hands._

It was sick, what was being done to him. He knew that on an intellectual level. It was deplorable that he was locked naked in a concrete box and left at the mercy of sadistic men, starved if he spoke out of turn, beaten if he looked at David the wrong way, his body at the mercy of another. Some days, he couldn’t think about the things that had been done to him, didn’t dare let himself dwell on the cruel touches, the violation of it. He didn't feel worthy of something as luxurious as self-pity. 

Other days, when David came in the middle of one of his grief-stricken spells, and the man turned him on his stomach and hiked his hips up and let dry, calloused hands wander, he almost felt like he deserved it.

It was _punishment_. Punishment for what he’d let happen to the people who had trusted him, who had saved him more times than he could count. It was on those days that he didn’t say no, didn’t fight it. He simply lay there, his body too weary to move on its own, too heavy to resist when David pressed him to the wall, when he spread his thighs wide or pried his jaw open and fingered over his tongue until he gagged.

Sometimes Negan would touch him, too, but never like David. No, Negan would pet his hair, stroke over his cheekbones, regard him like a piece of fine porcelain. It always jarred him when Rick flinched and tried to jerk away, like he just couldn’t comprehend why Rick didn’t want foreign hands on him anymore.

Strangely enough, when Rick told Negan _no_ on reflex, the command spilling out when the man got too close to his mouth, Negan stopped.

* * *

Rick thought the second pickup day would be easier, and at first, it was. It had started off so damn _well_. Relatively speaking, anyway. 

“Please.” Rick was on his knees, a position he found himself in more and more frequently these days. Pride stripped away, humility on his tongue, he pleaded with Negan. “I’m not going to be able to eat it today. You know I won’t. Please take it to them.”

Today, Rick’s breakfast was two waffles and an apple. He was almost unable to look at the fruit- the last time he’d had an apple had been in bed one morning with Michonne, their bodies bare and tangled beneath the sheets from their lovemaking the night before, her lush lips sweet and tart with the juice of the fruit when Rick had kissed her. He was sure that if he tasted it now, _here_ , when he didn't know when or if he would be with her again, he would shatter into thousands of glittering shards at Negan's booted feet. 

Once again, Negan shocked him.

“Okay, Rick. Fuck, okay. For _you_.” He took the platter back, frowning slightly. “I don’t like you goin’ hungry, but you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.” A smirk glimmered across his lips for a fleeting moment. “And it’s hard to say no to you when you look so damn good on your knees.”

It was as close to a win as Rick got anymore, and he reveled in his victory for hours until he heard something outside his cell door.

“ _Oh, what the hell?_ ”

Rick’s ears perked up at the sound of his guard’s exasperated voice. He crawled to the edge of the room and pressed his ear to the gap between door and floor, listening to the crackle of static on the guard’s radio. It was faint, garbled, but he could make out a few words.

_The kid…Alexandria…four dead…boss’s got him…_

Rick stopped breathing.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

The guard’s frantic footfalls disappeared down the hall.

_The kid…Alexandria…four dead…boss’s got him…_

“ _Negan!_ ” Rick screamed, mouth pressed into the gap. “ _NeganNeganNegan-!_ ”

Nobody came.

_The kid._

“Carl!” Rick wailed, beating the door with his fists. “ _Carl!_ ”

And then, so, so faintly: “ _Dad?_ ”

Rick _sobbed_.

“ _Carl!_ ”

“ _Dad-!_ ”

“C- _Carl_ …” Rick rasped, his voice broken and frail as he felt. Carl was _here_. In the Sanctuary. He was here and people were dead and he wasn’t _safe_ , not with Negan and no with these people who had them cornered like frightened animals.

Carl’s voice didn’t call out again, and Rick _lost it_. He was inhuman, a beast, a mama bear with only one goal in mind: getting to her cub.

He screamed until his voice cracked and his throat stung and then he kept going. He’d never screamed like that before, with absolute and utter abandon. He cried and sobbed and beat against the door, threw himself at it, kicked and fought and pounded on the metal until he felt his fingernails chip and bones break and skin tear away. There were voices on the other side of the door now, but they weren’t Carl’s so they didn’t matter.

Men came kicking in with guns pointed at his head, and he didn’t even see them. All he saw was the light of the hallway like heaven calling to him, and he ran for it.

He didn’t get far, not even halfway through the doorway, before he was caught and dragged back. He kicked and swung fists and hissed when the men took him down _hard_ , the wind knocked from his lungs in a painful gust. He was in a complete frenzy, teeth snapping and fingers clawing.

He felt something jab hard into his bare side, but it barely registered. There were bodies everywhere- on top of him and beside him and blocking his way out. People were sitting on his legs, there were fingers on his throat, squeezing hard, and his hands were being bound.

The fingers kept getting tighter and tighter, and Rick wasn’t sure if he was still calling Carl’s name because he wasn’t sure if he had any air left in his lungs to scream. His vision blurred and refocused, then burred again, the shouts around him dimming into white noise.

* * *

Rick woke with a shock, consciousness snapping back into him all at once.

 _Carl_.

When he went to push off the floor, his found that his wrists and ankles were bound tightly with rope. He couldn’t speak through a gag shoved in his mouth, stretching his jaw uncomfortably, and his throat was raw and ragged from screaming. The bleak reality of it all hit him then: he was in a box, unable to do a damned thing, and Carl was either dead or alive, but it wasn’t for him to know.

He slumped pitifully against the door, knocking his head weakly against it. _Wish they’d just killed me. Should have just finished me off._

The thought should have terrified him. In a way, it did. Ever since the beginning, he’d had something to keep the fight alive and burning in his belly: Lori and Carl, and then Carl and Judith, and then Michonne and the rest of his group, too. He’d never given up that constant fight for his life, because he knew it meant that he was fighting for their lives, too. If he could protect them, he was worth something. He had a purpose.

They could all be dead now. Four dead, that’s what the voice on the radio said. Which four? Michonne? Rosita? Daryl, Aaron, Tara, Maggie, Sasha, Eugene…?

What if Negan had found out about Judith? Rick had no doubt in his mind that Michonne and Carl had tried to conceal her existence from Negan, but what if he’d searched his house? What if he’d seen the toys on the floor or the high chair at the kitchen table, the photo on Rick’s nightstand…?

A sob, bitter and grief-stricken, ripped out of Rick’s hollowed-out chest and lodged itself behind the gag. Muffled, muted, he cried, let tears come and make tracks through the dirt and grime on his face.

Rick’s eyes fluttered closed and he dug up the memory of the day that he’d taken that photo in an attempt to soothe himself. It had been about a month after Carl had been shot, and he’d been coming slowly around to his condition. Rick knew he was insecure, though. He knew the signs, had struggled with a much different, less extreme version of that insecurity for much of his life, especially when he was Carl’s age. He saw how Carl always tipped his hair in front of that side of his face, saw how he tried to seat himself to people’s right sides so that they couldn’t see the bandages.

Rick had wanted a picture of Carl and Judith because he’d realized while looking around their house that their walls were covered in strangers. People from another life, long gone. It made him think back to Lori, how she’d saved their family albums when everything had fallen apart. Those were long gone now, too, left behind in their first camp in Atlanta because they’d been forced to leave too fast for them to grab anything like that.

He’d borrowed the camera from Aaron and started snapping photos- ones of Michonne reading in the rocking chairs on the porch, of Tara and Rosita laughing at some joke of Abraham’s, of Daryl gutting squirrels in the front lawn.

The first time he’d turned the lens on Carl, his son had flinched away, and it had broken Rick’s heart.

“Carl,” he’d said, hand on his son’s ruined cheek, “I love you. This? This isn’t anything to ashamed of, son. It’s not. You’re so _strong_ \- stronger than anyone I know, you know that? I’m so proud of you.”

“Why do you need a picture?” Carl had asked, still hesitant, but there was a flicker of something pleased in his good eye.

“We lost the one you found. Of you and me and…and mom.” Rick’s voice had been thick with the grief that they both still felt in Lori’s absence.

Carl had nodded. That had been enough for him to understand.

Getting him to smile? That had been a whole other story. Rick had tried every trick in the book, but it was easier to get a baby to smile than a teenager. Michonne had been the one to do it, of course. Rick hunched over in the grass with the camera in his face cracking every dad joke he knew hadn’t worked, but one smart quip from Michonne about how, “Rick, Alexandria must be treatin’ you well, because it almost looks like you have an ass inside those jeans right now,” had Carl laughing so hard he’d nearly cried.

He wished he had that photo with him now.

“Rick?”

Rick froze at the sound of a woman’s voice outside his door.

“Are you…look, I feel like someone needs to check on you after…after all that. Are you okay? It sounds like you’re awake.”

Who was this? He hadn’t heard her voice before. She didn’t speak to him like the other guards did, either. Her tone was gentle, soothing, like she was trying to calm a frightened kitten.

Rick knocked his head against the door again, unsure how to answer her.

“I’ll take that as a _yes, I’m awake_.” The woman sighed. “Are you seriously injured? Knock once for yes and twice for no.”

Rick knocked twice. He didn’t feel seriously injured.

“Negan’ll be down in a little while to speak to you. He’s not happy right now.”

Rick closed his eyes. Whatever Negan wanted from him, it couldn’t be much worse than what had already happened.

“That was your son that came here, wasn’t it? The boy in the hat?” Rick’s heart skipped a beat, daring to hope. “He’s okay. He’s alive…or he was when they left, anyway. Negan said he was going to take him back home.”

Tears of relief pooled in Rick’s eyes and spilled to the floor. _He’s okay. Carl’s okay…_

I just thought I’d let you know. He seems like a good kid. I’m…my name’s Sherry, by the way.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

If Rick had expected relief to come when Negan visited him, he was sorely mistaken.

“You _failed_ , Rick! You failed your people, you failed your boy, your baby girl- oh, _fuck_ yeah I know about _her_ now. Had your people _hidin’_ her from me.” Never mind that Rick hadn’t spoken to his people. Couldn’t. “But I found her. Hoo, shit, your boy wasn’t too happy about that. I could’ve cozied up and made myself at home there, but I thought, _You know what? Rick really needs to know that his whole world is falling to goddamned pieces right now_. So here we fucking are!”

Rick tried to shove off the wall where Negan had him pinned, chest to back, arms above his head, Negan seething down his neck like a vampire ready to bite. Rick wouldn’t put it past him. He’d unbound Rick when he’d come in only to make it a fair fight.

“ _Carl_ \- he’s a boy, he’s angry, he-” Negan cut Rick off by shoving his knee roughly up between Rick’s legs, bone and muscle colliding with tender places and making Rick hiss curses through his teeth.

“That kid ain’t a fucking kid, and we both know that shit. That little fucker killed _four_ of my men today, Rick. Gunned ‘em down like it was nothin’. What’d I say he was- a little future serial killer? Yeah, I was right on the goddamned money. You raised him _real_ good, Rick. What were you teachin’ that kid? You read him semiautomatic manuals for bedtime stories? Because that kid handled a gun about half his size like he’d grown up on it. Easy as riding a fucking bike,” Negan snarled, mocking him. “You’re one fucked-up daddy, Rick. Were you gonna raise your baby girl the same way? Teach her how to be a goddamned assassin? Like her brother, like _you_?”

Rick said nothing, breathing hard and gritting his teeth when Negan dug his elbow into his still-healing ribs.

“Well, I’m not gonna let that happen. No fucking _sir_. I’m gonna raise those kids of yours right. Teach ‘em how to live in this fucked up world. It’s because of my mercy that your kid is alive today, Rick. Anyone else would’ve gunned that little motherfucker down in the back of that truck and left him out front to rot.” Rick let out a helpless sob at that, nails splitting as he clawed at the wall to try to wriggle out of Negan’s grip.

“ _Fuck_ you.”

Negan pulled back just for a second, but then one hand was threaded into Rick’s hair and the other was twisting one of Rick’s arms behind his back, and Rick found himself being slammed mercilessly into the concrete wall.

“No, Rick.” _Slam_. “Fuck-” _slam_ \- “ _you_.” _Slam_. “You don’t wanna think about your kid dyin’? Too fucking bad. Because if he keeps this shit up, that’s how this is gonna go. I already had to take out two of yours today. _Two_.”

Rick, disoriented as he was from the slams, felt faintly ill. “Who?” he rasped out around a thick split lip. “ _Who?_ ”

Negan tossed him to the floor, followed him and put a boot on his chest, ground him into the grimy floor. “Wouldn’t you like to fucking know?” he sneered.

“ _Who?_ ” Rick bellowed, voice ragged and cracked as his insides felt.

“That woman that does the inventory- Olivia, right?” Negan said casually, and Rick’s heart sank. “Wasn’t _my_ choice. I told Arat to kill somebody- punishment, because one of your people shot Lucille. Tried to shoot _me_.”

 _Olivia_ , who had always been so kind, who had graciously offered to watch Judith so many times when Rick and Michonne were away. Judith had _adored_ her. There were finger paintings on Rick’s refrigerator that the two had done together.

“Chick that shot Lucille- guess she was pissed off about the other guy I killed, and that’s why she did it.”

Rick didn’t think he could feel much lower. Negan’s boot made his ribs feel like they were going to snap beneath the steady, crushing pressure, and pierce right through his sinking heart.

“Guy named Spencer? He didn’t seem like much of a friend of yours. In fact, I’d say I was doin’ you a favor by gettin’ rid of him. He didn’t have a lot of good to say about you, Rick. Seemed to think that you and yours weren’t doing the best job, so he wanted to take a crack at being top dog.”

Rick closed his eyes, tasted blood on his lips.

“It was some slimy-ass gutless shit he was tryin’ to pull. So I gutted him. Right there in the fucking street. It was a goddamned _mess_. Got blood all over me, looked like fuckin’ spaghetti sauce.”

“Stop,” Rick whispered. He couldn’t hear anymore, he _couldn’t_. He was sure he’d lose his mind even more than he had already. He felt like that was the only word he ever said anymore: stop, no. To Negan and his cruel words like razors slicing into raw flesh, to David and his hands on him.

Not that it ever made a difference. It never stopped David, and it didn’t stop Negan now from hauling him up by the hair and shoving him toward the door.

“C’mon, Ricky boy. Let’s take you for a goddamned walk.”

* * *

Rick was in pretty bad shape right now. It wasn’t that Negan didn’t know it- _hell_ , he thought as he paraded the man, naked and filthy, down the hallway- he may have gone a bit overboard by knocking him around with those ribs. The finger-shaped bruises ringing Rick’s pale throat were beginning to turn a violent shade of purple, and he hadn’t sound so hot when he’d finally been able to piece two words together to speak, his voice scraped down and raw like he’d been fed gravel instead of sandwiches and pasta right off Negan’s personal menu.

It rubbed him the wrong goddamned way that Rick was looking at him like that again, all pissed-off with his face scrunched up and teeth bared.

He’d really thought that they’d been getting somewhere, but that was his mistake. He’d let himself go soft on the enemy, let himself forget that Rick Grimes wasn’t a wounded kitten taking refuge in Negan’s home, but a snarling beast with blood in his teeth and hate in those icy blue eyes.

 _Punishment_. That’s what this was now, his hand in Rick’s lank, greasy hair as he paraded him naked through the Sanctuary halls like he was a prize hard-won and not the broken husk of a man that he was. If Rick wanted to be a little bitch about this, Negan was more than happy to treat him like one.

They passed by rec rooms and workers on the way to the showers, some people quickly turning away from the shameless display of Rick’s body while others watched with all the voyeuristic interest of vultures watching deer dart across busy roads, waiting to swoop in and feast on the misery.

This was what he’d wanted- Rick shamed and humiliated, head down and shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d wanted the man’s eyes to be all big and helpless and watery blue when he looked up at Negan, the way they were now…so why didn’t it feel like victory?

He’d been the one to drag Rick out of his cell for everyone to gawk and point at like a zoo animal, and yet now he had to fight the urge to shout at the people murmuring about how _that’s the Alexandria leader? Him?_ and cover Rick’s bare body with anything he could grab- a robe, a towel, his own jacket.

He didn’t, but it disturbed him that the desire was there.

He shoved Rick bodily into one of the empty stalls once they reached the large community shower area, turning the water on cold just to watch Rick jerk and shiver under the spray. “Clean yourself up. You smell like piss and sweat.”

He watched him the whole time, arms crossed over his chest while Rick fumbled with the soap. He kept his face impassive, impartial. If he pretended he wasn’t watching for pleasure, that meant it was okay that his eyes lingered on the way Rick’s muscles rolled under his skin, how he looked rubbing soap everywhere, hands in places Negan wanted to put his mouth. If he didn’t drop lewd comments about how _you’re cleaning yourself up real good for me, Ricky. Yeah, that’s right, all of it, I want you nice and clean in case you change your mind about my offer to get in my bed-_ then it was fine that he eyed Rick’s ass with hungry interest and wondered what he would feel like slick and spread on Negan’s cock.

It was fine. It was.

* * *

The brief time in the shower and outside the confines of his cell only served to make Rick realize how small and miserable the room was when he was unceremoniously locked back inside. Negan was right- it did smell like piss and sweat, but it could hardly be helped.

Rick curled on his side on the threadbare mattress- a “gift” Negan had delivered to him a few days ago to reward his “good behavior”- he’d shoved into the corner furthest from his bucket. He faced the wall with sheet draped around him, eyes closed to keep the sight of the hateful gray walls out of his mind. It was the closest thing he had to dignity anymore, that sheet. Just once, he’d tried to wrap himself in it to keep David at bay, but the man had nearly ripped it, and the thought of having nothing to take refuge underneath after it was over was too much to bear, so he hadn’t tried it again. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, he’d reasoned. A sheet would only slow him down, drag the whole ordeal out.

It could be worse. He told himself that sometimes in the moment, to get himself through. It could always be worse. He thought of how his family was safe sometimes, but it was hard, in the moments where that man had his hands in places Rick didn’t want touched, to think of the people he loved.

Mostly, he just tried to be grateful that the man hadn’t gone any further than touching.

The way Negan had watched him in the shower had left him feeling as slimy as when he’d gotten in- like he couldn’t tell what the man was thinking when he’d fumbled with the soap, hands shaking violently from the pain in his ribs and the freezing cold water pouring over him. Like he hadn’t caught him eyeing his backside when he’d been forced to bend over and retrieve it.

They were all the same. Negan, David, the men who had watched him undress that first day. Negan had tried to condition him these last two weeks, make him wag his tail like Pavlov’s dog whenever he came to call instead of David. Bring him a bowl of fresh berries or a pillow to lay his head on or a toothbrush to scrub the taste of dirt and gunpowder from David’s fingers from his mouth, like that would make it all _better_.

Like Negan wasn’t the one letting the man do what he did to Rick. Like he hadn’t stripped him and humiliated him and put him on display.

When the door to his cell gave that familiar creak as it opened, the relief came over him just like clockwork: Negan’s presence meant food. He was sure the man was going to starve him out for a couple days in retribution for Carl, and while over the past couple years hunger had become an afterthought, a constant ache, he didn’t welcome it. Certainly not here in the Sanctuary where he knew there was plenty. The only satisfaction he got was knowing that the food in his mouth was him reclaiming a tiny morsel of what the Saviors had stolen from them. It was the only way he had gotten himself to eat those first few days.

He rolled over, mouth already watering, only to have the rug ripped out from beneath his hopeful feet when it wasn’t Negan standing there in the glow of the doorway: it was David.

 _Of course_ , he thought dully as the man stepped in, the door hanging ajar behind him. Of course there would be a punishment. Because dragging him like a misbehaved dog through the Sanctuary for people to gawk at wasn’t enough for Negan.

“You know the drill, don’t you?” David sneered, nudging Rick’s leg roughly with his boot. “Or do I need to drag you out? I don’t have a problem with that- you know I like a little fight.”

Rick knew. He’d fought the man enough times to see how his fruitless struggling affected the man, the lusty gleam in his eyes turning harsh and lupine, jagged fingernails digging into vulnerable skin like claws.

Rick realized something was different when the man withdrew a pair of steel handcuffs from his back pocket, sitting on Rick’s lower back while he hissed and tried to squirm away while his wrists were cuffed. His breaths were already coming in short pants- fear and the beginnings of adrenaline mixing with the panic of being restrained. He’d learned how to get out of cuffs back in his cop days, but these were much too tight, the metal biting into his wrists, and the man had him pinned anyway.

“Nice and squeaky-clean,” David mused, scooting down so that he was sitting on Rick’s thighs and letting his hands play, squeezing his sides and pinching his ass. “About fuckin’ time. I didn’t want to do this while you were all fuckin’ filthy, but now? Now we can have us some _real_ fun, yeah?” Rick’s body tensed and coiled tight when he felt David’s hands start feeling him up, squeezing his bare ass and running his thumbs up the cleft before spreading him.

“God _damn_ , you look tight.” Rick’s face blazed, and he struggled to keep silent as the man’s fingers rubbed over him intimately. _He’s done this before_ , he repeated over and over, _it’ll be over soon, it’s just touching, he’ll-_

Rick’s crumbling world shifted and cracked when he felt pressure at his opening and a dry finger pushed its way in. Shocked, he sucked in a harsh breath, new fear taking over because David had never gone this far, and it hit him all at once that _this man could do anything he wanted to me, and nobody would know or care. There’s nothing stopping him from-_

“Knew you’d be tight as you looked. Don’t know why the fuck Negan hasn’t broken you in yet, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im, right?” The breach of a second finger burned and stung, and Rick, despite his best efforts, hissed into the mattress.

He was flipped onto his back after a few achingly long moments of harsh, probing fingers and the bone-chilling clink of a belt being undone. Rick’s vision narrowed down to a long, dark tunnel with only his attacker at the end, and his breath stuttered in his chest, horror dripping deep into him as the man pulled himself out and shoved Rick’s knees up to his chest, leaving him open and vulnerable.

Rick closed his eyes to try to steady himself, try to brace for it, but the second he felt the blunt head of the man’s dick pressed against him, it was like something snapped. His eyes flew open, and the caged beast came ripping out of Rick’s body in a moment of thoughtless self-preservation.

He wasn’t sure if he made a sound- if he struck out silently like a coiled snake or roared like a lion as he lunged forward with what little leverage he had. David caught on a second too late to make a difference- or maybe he was doomed from the first second he’d laid his hands on Rick’s body. He tried to flatten himself against Rick, arms holding his shoulders down, weight pressing into Rick’s hips, but he’d already made a grave misstep in not pulling away.

Rick didn’t remember making the decision to do it- it just _happened_ , muscle memory taking over from the last time he was even remotely in this position: arms bound, something disgusting and perverse and unspeakable about to happen. His teeth sunk deep into David’s throat, the hot tang of blood filling his mouth and pooling until it spilled out of the sides and down his neck and chest. He sank his fangs in far as he could, until his teeth met in the middle. He jerked his head back harshly, the wet, gristly ripping sound of tearing flesh filling Rick’s ears and drowning out the gurgling coming from above him.

He spat the lump of flesh and blood and gristle onto the cement floor, not wanting any part of the man inside him, and it was only then that he saw a familiar pair of boots lingering in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there will be a part three! I ended up adding a good bit to the middle of the story while I was editing this and now it's long enough to justify splitting it into three parts. I wish I could say it would be up in a few days but my free time is all over the place right now, so while it shouldn't be *too* long, I don't wanna make any promises about a time frame (since I know that part 2 took longer than expected). Thanks to all you guys who liked part one, I'm glad the whole captive Rick thing was intriguing to you guys!


	3. Gone

In the aftermath of his day with Carl Grimes, Negan wondered if he’d gone too far. He’d taken the kid’s father away, after all, and as he’d learned today, Carl’s mom was no longer in the picture, either. He never really blamed Carl in the first place- that kid was a little spitfire, all guts and maybe too little rational thought, but he was what, fourteen? That was to be expected. Little future serial killer just wanted to come after the only parent he had left, and Negan wasn’t about to fault him for that, so he’d sent him home and made him and his sister dinner, to boot.

He wondered if he should’ve told Rick that- let him know that Carl was well-fed and taken care of. He also wondered if he shouldn’t have forced Rick through the halls like that. It wasn’t exactly a short walk to the showers, and once the vengeful rage had drained out of him, he kept replaying the looks that some of his people had given Rick. Stares that lingered too long, eyes roaming where they shouldn’t. It was just like him to try to bring Rick down a notch and then regret it halfway through. Something about that kicked-puppy look he'd had as he'd picked himself up off the shower floor, not even bothering to hide himself from Negan's hungry gaze, ate away at Negan's insides. 

It had all been a _bit_ excessive, he decided- it wasn’t like Rick was there to make sure his kid wasn’t sneaking out of the house and shooting up his front lawn, after all. And the truth of it was that he _liked_ Rick- liked his handsome face and hard, strong body and the way he had enough balls to give a shit about people. He liked that he was a man of dissonance- that feral animal inside him coexisting with something as sweet and docile as a lamb. He was a ferocious mama bear with hate in his eyes and blood on his hands, but sometimes Negan would catch a glimpse of that same bear’s soft underbelly in the shy dip of his head or the silent thanks in his eyes when Negan brought him food, blankets, books, a mattress so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the unforgiving concrete floor. He’d gotten to see it the first time he’d brought Rick a meal, and with that one look, he was hooked. He had barely made the choice to keep bringing him things, to make him more comfortable- it was as if that tender, honest look in Rick’s eyes had compelled him all on its own.

And that had made him angry. He’d gone soft, and softness was weakness, and weakness made you stupid, which in turn got you killed.

So he’d lashed out, and now he sorely regretted it, which was how he ended up walking the length of hallway down to Rick’s cell with a platter of fruit and meat and even a tiny square of chocolate, barely recognizing himself.

For a moment, his mind flashed back to that first day he’d brought Rick here- that joking offer of marriage, and suddenly the idea of Rick, swathed in tight black fabric and lounging, shirt undone and legs parted invitingly on Negan’s silk sheets, overtook him. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. Rick may need some time to come around to it, but-

He came to a horrified halt halfway down the hall when he saw that the door to Rick’s cell was open. Negan ditched the platter immediately, one hand on Lucille and one hand reaching for his radio, ready to call a code orange because _his favorite fucking prisoner was on the fucking loose and who the hell let him out_ \- but then he heard a sound from inside, something guttural and struggling, and he broke into a run, skidding to a stop in the open doorway just in time to see Rick with his sharp wolf’s teeth buried deep into the neck of David, his assigned watchguard.

As he watched Rick wrench his head back, tearing out a ragged chunk of the man’s throat and spit the flesh onto the floor, all he could think was  _I underestimated this motherfucker by a long fucking shot._

Rick saw him then- he seemed utterly shaken by Negan’s presence, which Negan found a little offensive as Rick was wearing a man’s lifeblood from chin to chest and David was laying atop him, gurgling pathetically as he bled out. Surely he was less alarming than _that_ shit.

There was a long silence where Rick seemed to be waiting on him to say something, make the first move. His blue eyes, pupils dilated with adrenaline, kept flicking over to Lucille as if prepping for the blow.

Negan was about to ask why- _why, why, why the fuck would you do this, Rick? Why do you keep shitting on every act of lenience I show your ungrateful ass, why can’t you just let me save you, why the fuck do you keep forcing my hand when you have to have figured out by now that I don’t actually want to fucking kill you_ \- and then Rick shoved David off of him with a grunt and a twist of his body, and Negan saw the lifeless man’s fly undone and his now-flaccid dick pulled free and he got his answer.

When Rick finally spoke, it was with a voice that was strong despite how it shook. “I couldn’t- couldn’t do it. Not what he…he wanted more this time. I couldn’t. I know that’s- that’s part of it, but I-” Rick swallowed hard, eyes steely, and Negan couldn’t make sense of a single thing he was saying. _Part of it?_ “I only regret it because I- I know that I won’t get to see my boy again.” Rick sniffled, voice thick, tears shining bright in his eyes. “Go ahead and do it.”

“Do _what_ , Rick?” Negan snapped. His voice cracked like a whip in the tiny room, cruel, and it wasn’t what he was going for, wasn’t aimed at Rick, but the thought of- _that_ \- happening to Rick…

“Kill me.”

Negan made a frustrated sound in his throat. “I’m not punishing you for killing a fucking rapist, Rick. Far as I can see, the prick got what was coming to him.” Rick cocked his head dubiously, and it didn’t sit right with Negan that the man thought he was so far gone that he’d let that kind of thing just happen on his watch. “What? You think you’re the only one with fucking _morals_ , Rick? Almighty Rick Grimes, the only man left standing who _cares_ ,” Negan mocked. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but we’re not monsters here.” He spared a glance a David’s corpse. “Not all of us.”

Rick still had that fucking look. “But- he…” he cocked his head at Negan. “You let him…you sent him here to-”

“You think I fucking _sent_ him down here to rape you? You think _that’s_ how I fucking punish people?” Negan seethed and slammed Lucille against the metal door, impressed when Rick didn’t recoil at the sound. He should tone it down- Rick had just been attacked, he’d had to do some crazy shit to keep himself from being…he had to try to be gentle.

“I thought- because you let him touch me-” Rick began, and once again Negan felt thrown sideways, nausea creeping up his throat.

“When?” he croaked weakly, body sagging against the wall. “When did he touch you?”

Rick couldn’t hold his gaze then. He spoke to the floor, like it shamed him, and Negan felt sick with himself. “Every time he- he came to check on me. Told me that I was gettin’ off easy, that you usually did people a lot worse then you were doing to me.”

Negan recalled all the times that he had come in shortly after David had left- how Rick had looked relieved at the sight of him, how he’d always had that sheet drawn tightly around him like a cloak of protection.

“This was the first time the he tried to…go further.” Negan leaned heavily against the wall, body laden with guilt.

“How far did he get, Rick?” he shouldn’t even be asking- it was too much, too invasive, and Rick had so little that was all his own anymore, but he needed to know how heavily this should weigh on his conscience.

Rick was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke it was with shame, like he’d been the one to do something wrong. “He-he used his…fingers. He was about to-” Rick’s eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes casting shadows on his pinked cheeks. “And that’s when I-”

“Ripped his fucking throat out with your teeth,” Negan finished, because it was the only part he could focus on without wanting to vomit right into Rick’s bucket. It was fucking _badass_ , and Negan thought that he might be a little infatuated. It was hardly appropriate, especially given the circumstances, but there it was.

“Yeah,” Rick said, so matter-of fact, like they were back in the old world discussing who won the World Series or what they were having for dinner. Like his beard wasn’t caked with gore and like that didn’t turn Negan on _just_ a little.

“Come on, Rick,” Negan said quietly, gesturing the man up. “You can take the sheet.”

Rick covered himself quickly, followed Negan down the hallway. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, but not touching, not stopping until they reached Negan’s quarters.

* * *

Rick wasn’t sure how to take it when Negan sat him down on his sofa, offered him a pair of clean sweatpants and a loose-fitting flannel shirt, radioed down to one of his men to bring them up so food- “the good shit, top of the fucking line.”

He gestured the bathroom door on the far left side of the room. “If you wanna change or…I dunno. Take another shower. I figured you wouldn’t want to fucking share boxers, that’s why I didn’t give you any. Hope you don't mind goin' commando.”

Rick blinked dumbly down at the clothes clutched in his hands then back up at Negan. “Not like you haven’t seen me naked,” Rick said evenly, “why bother?”

Something frustrated and cornered flared up in Negan’s eyes then. “If you wanna fucking get dressed right here, nobody’s stopping you. Forgive me for trying to show you a little fucking decency, Rick.”

If it was a trick, Rick couldn’t find the loophole. He changed in the bathroom after he’d scrubbed the drying, caky blood off of himself. Negan seemed to have regained his composure in the time Rick had stepped away, because he was now lounging casually on the couch, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He offered Rick one like it when he gestured him over, and Rick took it with silent gratitude- anything to dull the lingering feeling of David’s touch on his skin and inside him.

He hovered, wary, not willing to sit while Negan spoke to him but more than happy to sip his whiskey and eat the proffered fruit and meat piled onto a tray on the table.

“I need you to understand that none of what that sack of shit did to you was approved by me, Rick," Negan began calmly, watching him as he wolfed down the food.

It was a hard pill to swallow. Rick needed to take a minute to breathe deeply and down some more of the whiskey, all fiery and smooth down his throat because _that can’t be true because if it is then I just let that happen to me for two goddamned weeks and he would have stopped it-_

“I meant it when I said we’re not monsters here. Rape, sexual assault? In the Saviors, that’s punishable by death. Lucky for me, you already did the honors with rapey Davey down there.” Rick winced, and Negan actually had the decency to look abashed. “I'm sorry, Rick. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry that you had to go through that. If I’d known-”

“Don’t,” Rick rasped out, eyes pleading because he couldn’t stand to hear it. _Two weeks_. Two weeks of living in fear when that door opened, of feeling violated and cheap and helpless. All for nothing. “ _Don’t_.”

Negan nodded solemnly. “Alright. Alright, Rick. I just- fuck, I hate to think about it, alright? This one’s on me. I should’ve been more clear about what we do and don’t allow here.” He startled suddenly as if he’d suddenly fit the pieces together, eyes falling to Rick's chest. “Your ribs.”

“I tried to fight him the first time,” Rick confirmed, eyes everywhere but on Negan. There was a lot to look at in the man's bedroom- he certainly didn't shy away from living like a king. “Didn’t work out so well.”

“Fucking shit.” Negan scrubbed a hand over his face, more distressed than Rick though he would be. “Jesus, Rick, I’m fucking sorry-”

“I got that.” If it was curt, it was because he wanted this to be over. Negan knew, it was over and done with, that was that.

“For all of it. Well- not _all_ of it. For David. For that first day, making you strip.” Rick’s cheeks burned like the alcohol on his tongue. “For parading you down the hall like a fucking sideshow. It was fucked up one side and down the other, I can see that now. Wish it hadn’t taken this for me to realize- but it’s done. I thought you assuming that I’d allow that kind of shit- well, I thought it was you bein’ your usual stubborn self-righteous asshole self.”

Rick breathed hard out through his nose, shaking his head. _Still can’t help but grind me into the dirt a little, can you, Negan?_ The whole apology felt like when he and Lori used to have to explain to Carl why "I'm sorry, _but_ -" wasn't a real apology. Somehow Negan had managed to miss that particular kindergarten lesson.

“-But I was the asshole. Of course you thought, with how I was acting- fuck. But now you know. I’ll find someone new to check up on you. Someone real trustworthy- one of my top guys. Or gals. You got a preference, Rick?”

Rick spat out a “no” before he registered the double meaning, and Negan broke into a wide grin. Rick wondered if he even realized that shit like that was inappropriate, especially right now. 

“I thought so. Either way, though, you’re gonna be in better hands. You impressed the hell outta me today, Rick, I’ve gotta tell you that. I mean, I’ve seen some pretty fucking brutal shit- who hasn’t these days? Somethin’ tells me you’ve seen your fair share.” Rick remained silent, and Negan carried on. “But _that?_ Je- _sus_ , that was badass. I’d started thinkin’ that the guy that killed all my men was dead and gone somewhere behind those baby blues of yours, but nope! He’s alive and kickin’- well, _bitin’_.”

Negan gave his teeth a playful little chomp at Rick, and Rick couldn’t fathom it- how he was teasing him over a glass of whiskey like they were old drinking buddies instead of fated enemies. “That’s the kind of shit I like to see in people, some real no-guts-no-goddamned-glory, balls-to-the-wall throat-ripping shit. I like that about you, Rick. You had me for a minute with your little broken-winged mama-bird act, but that ain’t you, is it?” Negan cocked his head at him, waiting for an answer to his clearly rhetorical question. Rick didn’t bite, but he didn’t seem to mind. Negan was the type that could talk forever, unprompted. “Nah, you’re a mama _bear_.” He clinked the rim of his glass against Rick’s, and whether he was toasting to Rick or to his own little speech, Rick couldn’t tell. “Finish that shit up, Rick. Gotta get you back in your hidey-hole. And remember- anyone does shit you don’t want- anyone touches you, says something to you, hell, if they look at you in some way that makes your skin crawl- you tell me, and I’ll deal with it. Alright?”

Negan held out his hand, a small, tentative gesture of peace between them, and Rick took it. Their hands clasped together, Negan’s palms cold from the glass and Rick’s warm from being clenched at his side. “Alright.”

* * *

The situation was far from ideal, but Rick felt like an enormous weight had been unburdened from him when Negan locked him back in his cell with fresh blankets and pillows and clean clothes to wear. David’s body was gone, the blood scrubbed from the concrete like it had never been there at all. Negan must have had someone clean it up while he was gone.

All he truly wanted to do now was rest- his body felt ready to cave in on itself from exhaustion and trauma. He had a more comfortable nest to cozy up in now, and no longer had to worry that he’d wake to David’s figure in his doorway. He’d gotten himself buried into the blankets, feeling very nearly safe for where he was, when he heard a rustle and the slide of something beneath his door. He rolled over, squinting, and then reached out to snatch up whatever it was he’d been given.

It was a small piece of paper, the words _go now_ written there, and when he flipped it over, there was a key and a bobby pin taped to the back.

It felt like a trap- like a test, and any other day he would have thought it was just another way for Negan to get under his skin, but Negan had struck him as being genuinely remorseful earlier. Rick doubted he’d try something like that so soon.

It took him less than a minute to jimmy the lock open, and then he was gone, locking the cell door quietly behind him and summoning every memory he had of the way Negan had walked him through the corridors, walking quickly and with purpose until he finally, blessedly, found a backdoor that looked like a light at the end of the tunnel if he’d ever seen one.

Rick stepped out into the sunlight for the first time in two long weeks, nearly blinded by the late afternoon light drenching his vision. As soon as he’d blinked the glare away, he was turning corners, passing by a row of motorcycles- _damn_ , he should have let Daryl teach him how to ride back when he'd offered- and nearly walking straight into a large, kind-faced man clutching a sandwich. Rick recognized him, he realized with dawning horror- he’d brought him food a couple of times in Negan’s wake. He’d been kind- definitely the kindest of the Saviors Rick had met. _Joey_ , he’d heard some of the others call him.

Which meant that Joey recognized _him_.

They both stood stock-still for a moment before Rick lunged. Joey held up his hands in surrender a moment too late to be useful as he was tackled to the ground and they both went sprawling in the gravel. Rick immediately went for the radio attached to the man’s belt, knees keeping Joey’s body pinned while he wrestled it from him easily. The man wasn’t fighting him, Rick noticed, and as soon as he’d frisked him for his radio and knife, he paused. Joey still had his sandwich in one raised hand.

“Look, man, I’m not gonna do anything, I swear,” he said, voice nervous and shaky. “I’m just a guy trying to survive. Same as you. Same as anyone. I’ll let you leave- you have my stuff, I’ll let you walk right out of here, tell them I didn’t see anything.”

Joey’s face was kind and terrified, his eyes were honest and guileless, his sandwich was a BLT.

Rick pushed himself to standing and backed away, glancing all around and tucking the radio away on his own belt before brandishing the knife in Joey’s direction. “ _Go_ ,” he growled, a warning. “Go, now, and I’ll let you live.”

Joey went.

Rick bolted for the fence ducking behind stacks of crates and parked trucks and nearly there when a familiar voice hissed his name in a low whisper.

“Rick!” A curtain of long brown hair flashed between trucks, and then Jesus was in front of him, looking surprised and relieved to see him. “C’mon. I was going to come try to break you out- guess you beat me to it.” Rick nodded his gratitude. “This way, behind those cars. I know the way back to the Hilltop.”

* * *

Walking back into the Hilltop as a free man- if an escaped and definitely wanted one-  was as good as Rick had felt in a long, long time. His friends were there- his _family_  was there waiting for him, and they embraced him one by one- Maggie, Daryl, Sasha, Tara, Rosita…and then Michonne, who folded him into her strong, warm arms so tenderly and with such feeling that he nearly cried, his face buried in her neck and he held her close and breathed her in.

Carl lingered a little toward the back- uncertain, like he was sure Rick knew what he’d done in his absence, and the hesitation on his face broke Rick’s heart.

Rick went to him, last but far from least, pulling him into an embrace that sent his hat tumbling into the dust on the ground- it didn’t matter. “You’re safe,” Rick whispered, choked. “You’re safe, and that’s all that matters, Carl.” And he meant it. The rest…the rest, they would deal with. For now, it was enough to be back with his son again. Carl’s fingers gnarled tight in the back of Rick’s shirt, the hitching breath that was stuttered into Rick’s shoulder imperceptible to anyone else but his father.

“I thought- dad, I thought that they’d-”

He couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t fathom a world where the last time he would see his dad was him being dragged away in the back of that van two weeks ago.

“It’s alright,” Rick murmured. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: SHIT okay so I just realized why people thought this was still ongoing and I fixed it lmao, that extra note at the bottom was from the first chapter when I didn’t know how long it was, I’m sorry! Chapter 3 is the last chapter, this wasn’t meant to be a full blown fic, just a short little “what if” interlude because in this au I see the war from here on out going the way it did in canon. Sorry for the confusion!


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